Scriptures of the Last Alive
by PsychoDirector
Summary: The Psychonauts have taken over the world, and it isn't for the greater good. Their members are hunting down everyone deemed 'imperfect', striking without mercy under a new, power-hungry rule. No one is safe... not even me, Lili Zanotto.
1. Imps and Psychs

_Dear Diary,_

_I've got to write this all down. _

_That's the only thing I know for certain right now. Whether it's to spread the truth, or as a safety device in case they ever find me... I don't know. Maybe it's just because I need something to keep me from losing my mind. All I know is that I have a story to tell, and that the sun is about to rise. They don't patrol during the day, so if I can stay hidden for another hour or so then I'll be safe. In the meantime, it's time I explained what happened._

_According to the Psychonauts, I am a renegade and possibly dangerous Imp (that's the slang term for us), ordered to be disarmed and arrested on sight, then taken to what was once the city library for correction. Somewhere out there, Raz and Milla and Sasha are all looking for me and any other rogue Imps, which is why I've had to go into hiding for the past four years._

_Four years ago, everyone on the planet was an Imp--even Avalon and Gareth, though they were loath to admit it. Now virtually no one is. Those who are remain hidden wherever they can, living nocturnal lives to match that of the Psychonauts. It's a horrible life--but it's better than being one of them. Anything's better than being one of them. Joining the Psychonauts is no longer a child's dream--it's a nightmare. The Psychonauts have taken the roles of the boogeyman under the bed, the monster in the closet, the ghosts scraping their fingers along the windows at night. Even the most naive child knows now that reality can be worse than imagination. _

_I'm not sure when they went wrong. It was so gradual, I don't think anyone does. All I know is that when they finally did strike, they struck hard and fast and mercilessly. By that point even Sasha, even... even Raz... wanted to turn me into one of them, or kill me trying. They've lost their light, you understand!? Everything about everyone I've ever known is just... it's gone. I've lost everyone and I don't know how to get them back. Sometimes I just want to give up now, just so I can see his face again... But then I remember the times I've seen him after this, and what was lying in that face. There wasn't the warmth, the compassion, the blatant defiance I came to know and love. There was only coldness, bleakness, and a fierce determination that burns like frostbite instead of actually making heat. _

_God, now I'm writing poetry instead of getting straight to the point. I'm so sorry. I just miss him so damn much, more than anyone else, even. I thought--I swore--that he'd die before he turned. Not that I'd wish him dead (NEVER!), but I just... I'm still in shock, I guess. Four years worth of shock. I'd give anything to have him beside me, filling me and all the other Imps to the brim with stores of his endless courage and bravery and all that. Instead he's out THERE somewhere, hunting though the city, maybe beating one of the few remaining Imps senseless before carting him or her off to the library. I wonder what he'd say now--and I mean the normal him, not this one. The real him._

_I wonder if he could find a cure. I wonder if he's really 'sick'. I wonder about a lot of things, but it always gets me nowhere. Now, there is nothing more important than survival and spreading the word. If I can let even one Imp know that there are others like him or her out there and fighting, maybe... maybe that's good enough. I don't know._

_I've got to write this all down._

_Lili_


	2. Oh Fortuna, Velut Luna

**Hi, guys! Welcome to the second chapter of what's probably the weirdest fic I've done yet. Sure, every fic I've done is, in some way, weird, I'm sure, but this one just takes the cake. This has a lot of new stuff for me--it takes place in the future, it's very angsty, the main character isn't Raz, but Lili... _et cetera._ 'Is very odd. Still, nevertheless, I'm enjoying it, and I hope you will, too. Have fun!**

**To Iceboxme: Cool. 8D Next chapter and a side of fries, comin' up! And, hey, I don't mind. A review's a review. I often take quantity over quality when it comes to reviews. xD**

**To I Ain't That Sane: Mua ha ha. Sucker. I-I mean... um... No, I don't know what movie it was, either. I just think of _Resident Evil, _because I like that series. In any case, it's typing time! Woo!**

**We now bring you your featured presentation.**

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_I'm not sure, exactly, when it began. Looking back, I don't think anyone really was. Probably, it was with us all along, growing inside our hearts like a parasite, just waiting for someone to introduce it into the light. That's the thing—it's impossible to tell where an idealism first begins. It could have been just one of Raddenger's sick ideas, or it could have been from the very first day a psychic first caught sight of another mindscape. He notices it, considers it, then shoves it forever into the back of his own mindscape, but the idea never quite goes away. Instead, it just sits there, waiting for the day you die or the day you let it out again. _

_Truman Zanotto would have never allowed things to go as far as they did; not even close. I know this well: he was my father, once. He made a few wrong choices (he was only human, after all), but for the most part, his heart was in the right place. I don't think he'd even noticed the sick cancer of an idea. He was almost too good in that way. Then again, he may have. He didn't get to be Grand Head by pussy-footing around believing life is one big family sitcom. Even if he did, his sarcastic daughter was always there to take him away from Fantasy Land. I guess that's the one good thing my attitude issues ever did, not that I regret them._

_However, Truman's dead. He died of a heart attack when I was thirteen, brought on by stress at work and a few too many cigarettes and doughnuts. In his will he requested a party of a funeral, starting with a solemn toast to his name and ending with strippers and booze. Everyone in the Psychonauts attended, even me and Raz, to the others' surprise. I bitterly refused to be denied access to my own father's funeral, using my close relation to him and high-power position in the Psychonauts as the only heir to the metaphorical throne to my advantage. As for Raz, well… he's Raz. I vouched for him, and he did the rest in that picking-in-just-the-right-place way that I fell head-over-heels with back at camp._

_God, I miss those days._

_In any case, the Administration of Psychic Labor and Distribution (who were the second-highest form of power within the Psychonauts, behind the Grand Head and his family line) wasn't too keen on having a thirteen-year-old girl running the single biggest psychic corporation in the world. They searched for a loophole, then found one._

_To put it short, some old law proclaimed that, in the case that the only heir is under eighteen, A.P.L.D had the right to elect an official to take over the business end of running things. This was great for me: I got the name, some woman named Avalon Smith got the paperwork._

_Raz was sickly jealous. I was just chuckling over the irony of the agency being run by 'Agent Smith'. I would later realize how ironic it really was, but at that time, I was too busy ordering maids to make me and Raz peanut butter and banana sandwiches and basically being a giddy heir to a vast fortune and a company I didn't have to organize. Granted, I was struck by the loss of my father, but he had already been gone so much on official business that it didn't hit me as hard as it should have, especially as it was cushioned by the inheritance. Does that make me a bad person? I don't know._

_Maybe things would have been better if I had taken over for real… but I don't think so. The idea was there. All it needed was a spark._

_Avalon represented more than the Psychonauts inner workings. Before she became my associate (and, later, my adoptive mother, but I know that was for reasons other than care), she was the president of a company known as Mentallix Inc. They made the Psychic Portal Doors; an invaluable asset to any and all Psychonauts. Also a millionaire like I suddenly became (granted, I had always been, but there was something entirely different from it being Dad's money and mine), we were almost friendly towards each other at first. We had a lot in common: we shared a job, both had a lot of power, both had attitude… we were practically twins. However, it became quickly apparent that there was one major difference between us: she was a bitch, I wasn't. Also, she hated my guts for having the title and the fortune while she took care of the thankless job of answering questions._

_One of the most important questions, which would increase drastically over the next few years, was this: where do mental problems end, and mental imperfections begin? It was getting harder to draw the line between the two, but somehow everything still seemed okay. My dad was gone, but the company was under control, I was financially set, I had an awesome boyfriend, and all was well with the world._

_Things were quiet for some time, I remember. Mentallix closed its doors to the psychic public shortly after Avalon got elected in, only noticeably alive during their routine deliveries of more PPD's. This wasn't uncommon—due to a percentage of us being telepathic, the best way to keep company secrets from being stolen was by isolation. Were they to continue close interaction with the Psychonauts, it'd be a piece of cake for someone to extract information on, say, a bank number or the delicate formation process of a PPD (construction of them has always remained top secret). _

_Nothing much changed because of the loss, which was actually rather sad. Raz and I hung out more than ever, enjoying and splurging all the cash that the adults around us would allow. Those were probably the best days of my life. We would drive up to Specter City, Theodora, even so far as to take a road trip to Bloomingdale, MN, in a posh limo, then set loose on every fun place we'd ever wanted to go. Life became every kid's fantasy for me, enough so that I didn't bother watching what was going on with the company I represented._

_Raz, however, did._

_They got the telepaths and precognitives first, shortly after my fourteenth birthday. It wasn't a total system takeover, at first, just… manipulation. It could have been that they didn't have to mess them up, that the telepaths and precognitives would have followed through with the gradual change if given enough time, but they wanted to be safe. They couldn't have anyone reading their minds or knowing what was to come. So it became a secret side-mission, something measured and unnoticeable. One day a few telepaths were needed for debriefing, the next, a few precognitives._

_Eventually, people began to notice. Things seemed, as always, just fine after the appointments. But then, a few days after the last precognitive had had an appointment… suddenly no one could see the future or read minds. Concern ensued, but no one was really too worried. Things like this sometimes happened. It was rare, but sometimes there were influxes of the mental kind. They'd come back._

_That's when a few agents began to realize that something was wrong. Sure, there had been influxes in the past, but those two particular powers were too… coincidental. They warned the Mentallix company to stand watch for any unauthorized manipulation of anything within the Psychonauts. Avalon swore she would. _

_Some people were suspicious of Mentallix, but not many. After all, Mentallix had been a part of the Psychonauts since they were made, and had no reason to take away power within their own property. Plus, they knew one thing: if they couldn't trust something so deeply integrated within the Psychonauts, then they couldn't trust any part of it. It was just an influx, that was all. Life went on, and the telepaths and precognitives waited patiently for their powers to return._

_Oh, how wrong we were._

_The next step, I believe, were the routine flu shots. They had been mandatory for years, but it's the only way I can think of that they were able to quicken getting the agents under their control. The shots softened mental defenses, weakened minds, made people easier to convince. Convince of what, though, we were soon to find out._

_Avalon Smith had a dream, and one day she shared it with us. Her dream was to create the perfect world. She dreamed of a world where there were no illnesses, no deformities, no madness or desire to cause harm to anyone. Most importantly of all, she knew this world was _possible_, by us, by our powers. She told us of great and intricate plans: to sweep the cities of the world for crime and detestable people, then to fix them. All she wanted was for us to go a little faster, strike a little harder, and save more lives._

_People cheered for her, and supported her happily. They were blissfully unaware of the consequences of her plans, too wrapped up in the thought of a perfect society. "Yes," they cried. Yes, they could fix the problem. Yes, they _would_ go out there, clearing up all the bad thoughts nestled inside peoples' heads. This was the true duty of the Psychonauts, what they'd been doing from the start. All Avalon wanted to do was speed it up._

_Of all of us, very few realized the problem with this plan. I didn't; not until later. Of those who did, most of them just quit. Some tried to spread the word, but something had changed within the Psychonauts. People weren't willing to accept the flaws. They were convinced that those who quit were simply paranoid, and that they'd get over it and come back. Or not. Who cared?_

_Meanwhile, I just kept on cheering. I laughed at the people who left, wondering just how crazy they had to be to believe what they were spewing at us. This wasn't Fascism. We were just psychic police, not mad-with-power perfectionists. We could draw the line between 'bad' and 'imperfect' just fine._

_Raz was worried, though. Not because of the increased force behind us (God knows we needed that), or because of the bad/imperfect debate, but because Sasha and Milla had been acting weird since Avalon made her big tactical movement. Actually, Sasha had been weird since he became victim to the influx. He'd been more outgoing, yet less… meditative. Milla, meanwhile, was concerned as well._

_I told him what I thought: he was probably being forced to talk more, instead of just getting what he needed to know through someone's mind. And he probably didn't ponder as much because he no longer had new stuff always pouring in to ponder about. His mind was bored._

_"Maybe…" Raz had said, "but it's not just that. He just seems… weirder."_

_I should have listened to him. Instead, I reminded him that Sasha was going through a weird change in his life. This made me sound really parent-like, so Raz changed the subject quickly and asked if I wanted to go play video games. I said yes._

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**_"Oh fortuna, velut luna, statu variabilis... Semper crescis, aut decrescis; vita detestabilis nunc obdurat et tunc curat ludo mentis aciem, egestatem, potestatem, dissolvit ut glacium. (Oh fortune, like the moon you are changable, ever waxing and waning; hateful life first oppresses and then soothes as fancy takes it; poverty, and power, it melts them like ice.)" ~ Oh Fortuna, Carl Orff_**

**To be continued... Also, it should be noted that not every chapter will be in this diary form. Flashbacks (and there are so many flashbacks) will be in third-person, and may switch who the story is focusing on for a little while. So, be prepared, and keep reviewing!**


	3. Power or Freedom?

**Wow. It's been a while, hasn't it? Ha ha... I'm lame. **

**In BRIGHTER news, this chapter is the longest one yet. And there's some cool stuff in it, too, so... yeah. I can't believe there are so many letters this time around, especially for only one page of script! Even if one was just telling me to stop looking at butterflies and get my ass in gear... I feel unworthy... OK, self-conscious moment is over. Moving on! Wow, all these new updates on are so... New. Kind of disorienting...**

**Dear I Ain't That Sane,**

**...Kay! I don't know where you've seen it before, other than that it's a hugely popular and AWESOME movie genre. As for the swimming thing, that's because I had a temporary brain collapse and forgot Raz couldn't swim. XD I lose.**

**Dear ,**

**LOL, thanks. I've always wanted to make an armeggedeon story, and Lili needed more love. I figured putting her as the main character might give Raz a break from being the human punching bag all the time in my stories... then again, probably not. XD Also, thanks for the reminder! I feel bad for forgetting this for so long... I haven't actually been busy, per se, I've just had Writer's Block. Ah ha ha--piano'd- ...Ow.**

**Dear iceboxme,**

**Thanks! Well, it may not be exactly 'soon', but I updated. Hey, I tried.**

**Dear Armageddemon,**

**NEVER. D8 YOU WILL NEVER GET A NEW CHAPTER OUT OF ME. _EVER. _**

**And now, your long awaited chapter.**

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_After Avalon's revelation, things calmed down again at work__. The agents cracked down on crime, just as they were asked, and Avalon took care of the paperwork. Meanwhile, my life suddenly and drastically changed. Turns out, because of my lack of a legal guardian, Avalon, Sasha, and Milla had also been fighting to keep me out of an orphanage behind my back while I was splurging with Raz. Shocked as I was, I felt a surge of warmth towards the three, and a renewed respect towards Avalon. I no longer thought of her as a bitch, and sympathized with her when she confided in her worries towards the people who were convinced Mentallix was taking over. She wasn't worried for them, no—she was worried for her, now our, company. _

_The next day Avalon asked me if I would allow her to adopt me. She spoke it in just the right way, too; not 'how would you like' or 'what do you think of', but 'would you allow me'. She respected my freedom of choice and selfish lust for control. As such, I agreed, and I became Lillianna Smith. What did it matter, anyway? In four more years or so I'd just have to change it again, to Lillianna Aquato. I'd doted on a few boys before, broken up and re-coupled with Raz at least twice, but he was still the loveable lump he'd always been. We were inseparable. Avalon said we were in a "business-positive relationship". Milla said that the "auras of our destinies were intertwined". Ford just said "crazy kids" and went back to mopping. We had everything that marked us as a good couple: we didn't keep too many secrets, we had known each other since we were kids, and we liked each other in more ways than one. _

_Six months later, it all went horribly, horribly wrong._

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**No records have been found of the following events. What you are about to read is a written, reenacted version of it. Scenes may or may not have been altered. **

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"Ah, Razputin. What brings you here?" Raz hung in the doorway of his mentor's office, watching the German agent with wary eyes. In front of him, Sasha was pouring over a Petri dish full of something pink and throbbing. The room was dark aside from a single desk lamp focused on the dish, giving it more than a passing impression of an evil lab.

…Considering the way Sasha had been deteriorating since losing his ability to read minds so long ago, this was not a good sign.

"Hi, Sasha," Raz muttered, stepping into the dingy room. His foot hit something soft; he peered down, and was just barely able to make out the shape of a pile of paperwork. He realized, with dismay—but not surprise—that it was one of many. The paperwork was staked upon itself in perilous towers around the small room, with only small gaps between them to serve as paths. Only half of them were in English, and very few of those were even readable by the fourteen year old agent. Sasha had been busy.

Slowly, eyes only on the culmination of one year's hard work, Raz worked his way across one of the slim gaps, sucking in his stomach and spreading his arms wide to fit. Luckily, the path he had chosen was on a beeline to Sasha's desk, as he didn't think he'd be able to take turns very well, if at all.

"Damn, Sasha, do you ever think about how many trees died for this?" Raz remarked sarcastically, hoping to make light of his mentor's increasing obsessive-compulsive disorder even as his throat tightened with worry. To his left, safely out of Sasha's field of vision, his hand slipped into the pocket of his windbreaker. The fingers made contact, grasping at something small, flat, and rectangular. His psychic portal door.

"One problem at a time, my young friend," Sasha muttered distractedly, even as he fed a slight electrokinetic pulse to the blob. It quivered with the energy, its color tinting purple, before falling still and lifeless. Sasha frowned, and, from behind him, Raz tried to smile.

"Sure, whatever you say, boss-guy. With all this stuff, we should be close to a breakthrough, right? I can smell it in the air. It smells like chicken." To his left, the portal was gripped tightly in his hand. Raz hated to do this, but he obviously couldn't wait much longer. Lili and Milla were wrong, had to be. Sasha's sanity was on the line, and even if he had to tear open his cube like the world's largest egg, he would make Agent Nein sane again.

He just had to _get_ to him.

From in front of Raz, Sasha pounded a fist on the desk in frustration, disrupting the tense silence. The blob of pink bounced a little, as if trembling in response from the uncharacteristic growl that oozed from Sasha's gritted teeth. Raz sympathized with it. He felt a bit like trembling, too. But, of course, he was a _teenager_ and a _Psychonaut_, so he gripped the paper wall and forced himself to be brave.

"Does it _look_ like I'm onto a breakthrough, _du dummes kind_!? Does it look like I'm even _close_!?" Sasha yelled at the pink blob. Raz had the odd feeling that he could don a dress, jump on a unicycle, and start yodeling and he wouldn't grab Sasha's eye. It certainly helped with his plan to sneak into his mind… so why did it make him feel bad?

_Just keep him talking_, Raz reminded himself, and commenced doing just that.

"So, yeah, you're not having much luck, big deal. I'm sure we can find the solution eventually. We have time." Raz had no idea how wrong that was, but he continued on trying to be the voice of reason. "Agent Nein, please, take a break for a while. You haven't gone on a single mission or taught at camp or done anything other than try and solve the influx issue since it began. We miss you." He took a hesitant step forward. One more, and he'd be in throwing range. Green eyes were locked firmly on the back of Sasha's head—so black and empty and expansive, as if it wanted to have a door on it—and watched it bob slightly as Sasha scoffed.

"Don't tell me you're lonely, Razputin," Sasha remarked, as if the very thought were unbelievable. From behind him, Raz pouted, feeling defensive.

"Well, maybe I am. And maybe you need to go out and find some… aesthetic influence. It's win-win." He smiled tightly. "Come on, it'll be fun. You and me and Milla and Lili and Generic Psychonaut number seventy-two, just going on an adventure. Just like the old days."

There was a long silence. Sasha looked into the glowing recesses of the blob as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, and Raz took the moment to stare down at the portal door. It stared back, blank and stupid and not deserving to be put on such a pedestal. Mentallix cranked out hundreds of them in their labs. They were like psychic toys. Annoying. Useless. Harmful.

_If he agrees,_ Raz thought, eyeing the bland green décor emblazoned with the Psychonauts logo distastefully, _I'll throw this thing away, and forget all about it. I feel like a traitor. _

"…One mission?" Sasha muttered, finally turning one glasses-clad eye towards Raz. The boy nodded enthusiastically at this, back to being happy, his left arm pressed tight against his side, in the process of slipping the portal back into his pocket. His right fist he held up, extending fingers as he began to list.

"Yeah! They've got openings in Uruguay, Canada, Lithuania, Germany… wherever! I'll tell the girls, and you can pack your bags. This is gonna' be so_ sweet_!" Raz laughed, this time for real, too hopeful at the idea of recreating old times to notice a tiny tug against the side of him away from Sasha. He only watched as Sasha continued to speak, almost—but not quite—facing his protégé.

"Germany, you say? Hmm… it might be nice to spend some time in my old home town…" Sasha mused, as if unaware that Raz was still in the room. Raz didn't mind, though; on the contrary! He forced his grin into that of a salesperson trying to con a town into building a monorail, holding up two thumbs.

"Great idea! It'll be like a field trip that _doesn't_ suck!" Sasha smiled back, his grin small but noticeable.

"On the other hand," he continued, swiveling around fully to face Razputin, "perhaps that would be too taxing on my poor, insane mind." Raz froze, his grin still stuck on his face and his hands still outstretched in his overzealous twin thumbs' up. However, just above them, his pupils contracted slightly, his eyes widened, and his eyebrows rose.

"W-what?" he asked. His body felt cold. His pocket felt lighter. So, when the psychic portal door, now twirling faintly in Sasha's psychokinetic grip, drifted down in front of his face, he wasn't too surprised. He was, however, too horrified to take it, even as his hands uncurled and fell back to his sides and his grin sank into a minute gape.

From across the room, Sasha stood. His chair creaked as the weight on it was lifted for one of the few times in its poor life. The blob remained ever motionless, and the lamp continued to cast the room in a muted light. The door reflected this, glinting silver as it slid smoothly into Sasha's palm.

"I thought better of you, Razputin," Sasha muttered as he pocketed the device. "I thought you'd plan a little more intricately. I thought you'd have a bit more decorum. And I thought you'd have found it all out by now. Aren't you supposed to be some sort of prodigy?"

"How did you know?" Raz interrupted, more curious than wary for a moment. "You couldn't see it, and with the influx—" Suddenly Sasha laughed; a single, sarcastic 'ha!' that made Raz flinch.

"The influx? That annoying con artist's trick pulled on you all? I'm above that now, Razputin. I've moved on." He stepped forward, and Raz jumped back, his heart racing and head confused.

"Sasha, you're not making any sense," Raz whined. His eyes darted down to his mentor's pocket, in which he could just barely make out the outline of the tiny door. Almost subconsciously, his hand reached out for it. "Just let me go into your psyche. This isn't like you." Despite his contradicting desire to run, screaming, from the room, Raz slid a few hesitant inches towards the older agent. He still felt like a wimp, but at least it was better than the whole panic thing. Still, Sasha noticed, and his tone softened.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Raz. One of the scientists at Mentallix—Garreth Raddinger—already figured it out. All it takes to stop the influx in a person is just a bit of corrective brain surgery, can you believe that? I already signed you and Milla up for the procedure. You should be thanking me, not accusing me of being insane. You're still so naïve, so… childlike." Raz's eyebrow raised, even as he ran his hands along the paper walls in a tactical retreat. If he could just get away from these cramped paths, he could make a run for it. All of the pieces were starting to come together in his mind, and he knew just who he had to tell.

"Well, it may shock you to know, but I _am_ a kid, technically," he drawled, stalling for time. A loss of power that could only be cured by brain surgery… Sasha's creepy and sudden personality changes… Mentallix closing its doors to the public… Everything made sense, now! Why hadn't he realized this sooner?

"What makes sense?" Raz jerked as Sasha answered the unspoken exclamation, remembering in a hurry that the surgery had returned his ability to read minds. Quickly, Raz thought of the most annoying song and tackiest lamps he could find, spilling them across his mind in a new barrier like buckets of paint across a written profanity. He couldn't even think of it! He couldn't let Sasha know that Mentallix was—

_Never gonna' give you up, never gonna' let you down… Never gonna' break your heart and HURT YOU…_ Raz thought quickly, surrounding the Internet pun with an image of a stained glass sculpture of a unicorn.

"Razputin, what makes sense to you now?" Sasha prodded. Raz could feel his mental essence prodding cautiously at his scalp, digging for weak points beyond the natural defenses, distracting music, and ugly visions.

"Why did you sign me and Milla up, too?" Raz abruptly demanded, crashing the subject and temporarily tricking the mental claw into letting go of his brain. He sighed in relief, then went right back to scowling accusingly at Agent Nein. The latter frowned, as though annoyed by the dumb question, but answered anyway. With a question.

"Tell me, Razputin, when was the last time you used your powers?" Raz's expression wavered to one of confusion. He hadn't thought about that much, but…

"I torched Bobby's afr---I mean, I used TK to open a soda bottle, about… a week ago? Ish? Something like that." Sasha blinked.

"That long ago?"

"Well, my dad won't let me use my powers in the circus, and you and Milla won't go out on any missions any more, and Regulation Twelve says minors aren't allowed to go on missions without an adult supervisor, and—"

"Okay, I don't care any more. Suffice to say, if you'd be paying closer attention, you'd have noticed."

"Noticed? Noticed what?" At this point, as if in rage, Sasha slammed a fist into the paper wall to his right. The structure groaned once again, this time shedding a few yellowed documents, and Raz found himself praying frantically that it wouldn't collapse and crush them both under thousands of tree remains. Psychic shielding wouldn't do him any good if he still couldn't burrow his way out. But that was less important than what Sasha had to say.

"Noticed _what_?" he parroted irately, his fist still glued to the paper. His next words were a yell. "Psychic abilities are _dying_, you idiot! The 'influx' isn't going away—it's getting stronger! What's worse, it's affected every psychic in the Midwest. Even you, boy." Raz was torn between surprise, horror, confusion, and hurt. Even if it were true, and he was losing his powers even as they stood there… Sasha had never referred to him as 'boy' before. He was crazy, he was perpetually angry, and he was a victim of some conspiracy—

_(Needed some time/so I could find/a little strength to redefine/what I've become/what I have done/I never asked to be the one… TACKY LAMP TACKY LAMP DISTRACT YOUR MIND BOY BOY HE CALLED ME BOY LIKE I'M JUST)_

"_Dying_?" Raz squeaked. He had only blurted out the word to distract himself, but as soon as he did, he realized the seriousness of the implication. If Sasha was right, he realized with shock, he was in a lose-lose situation. Lose your powers forever, or become some psychotic obsessive pawn in… this thing.

"Yes. Dying. Telekinesis, cryokinesis, invisibility… they're all starting to fade. That's why I signed you two up. I want to help you. That doesn't mean I'm insane." Raz bit his lip. What should he do? Should he try and steal the portal? Should he find another one and try again? Should he just run? Or should he risk the surgery? After all, he reasoned, he wouldn't get very far without his powers. Without them, he couldn't even jump into Sasha's head, even if he had the materials. And Sasha had retained most of his sanity for so long… maybe he could jump in his head, make him sane again, and convince him to do the same before he snapped entirely? Either way, time was running out. He had to choose.

Power or freedom?

Raz pondered for a few seconds, then gave his unwilling answer.

**-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --**

"_Power or freedom?" Raz asked me once, a very short time before the entire system as we know it collapsed. "Which would you choose?" _

"_What sort of dumb question is that?" I responded in my usual, blunt way. "Have you been watching documentaries on Communism when I'm not around?" I turned to him, then, and was surprised to see that his face was dead serious. Of course, he had spent a lot of time being dead serious over the last few weeks… and the long four years after that… but not over a line that would have been the wind up to a bad political joke when he was twelve. Still, he was and it wasn't, so I answered._

"_Freedom, duh. Power may get you all sorts of shiny things and make your life easier, but what's the point if you can't do what you want with it? Plus, if you're poor but free, less people try to assassinate you." Raz only frowned, as if dissatisfied with my half-joking answer, and went back to looking out the window. I turned back, too, admiring the night sky and the city lights even as I was supposed to be watching for someone to arrive. Still, after seeing my boyfriend's solemn face and especially after I was branded an Imp and sent into hiding, I couldn't help but wonder…_

…_Which one was the right answer? Power or freedom?_

**-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --**

**_"Let's burn a hole so we can climb out... of these paper walls in this empty house. Don't listen too close, their words are like guns... with bullets that fly and kill what you've won..." -Yellowcard, "Paper Walls"_**

**To be continued! Remember, this is supposed to be a rather philosophical chapter, so be sure and send lots of reviews with your deep and emotional interpretations, answers, critiques, compliments, philosophies, hypothesies, conclusions, whatever. Or just send in lots of reviews. I'm not picky.**


	4. Projectile Suicide

_**((A.N. Spam Dump issue 1 of 3 COMMENSE. Sweet CAMBODIA I feel so good right now. I've been on a serious drawing rush as of late, struggling to finish my Escape From Nevara entry (hey SURPRISE I'm joining too) AND a comic for my Studio Art class AND some big freaking Psychonauts one I've been bragging about since forever. Now, finally, the EFN entry is 99 percent completed, the Studio Art comic is firmly plotted and roughly designed, and the Psychonauts comic is a good twenty-five pages in and I can finally settle down and dedicate an otherwise okay day to my other true love, partially because fanfiction's just fun and partially because I'm giddy like a schoolgirl over the reviews I've been getting thus far (what do you know, whining for attention really works). Thus, I made it my goal to write out a brank spankin' new chapter for EVERY SINGLE CHAPTERED FANFIC I HAVE HERE today.**_

**_...I totally failed, as Paranormal of a Different Sort and Life After Breakdown are still alone, but they were updated all recent-like so I think we're cool. Also, To Break an Agent totally still does not have the rumored chapter two, but I'm having a huge moral debate regarding that because it's awesome, yet mood-killing because it's also HAPPY. Choices._**

**_Anyway, it's past midnight and I'm supposed to be sleeping but let's just GET ON WITH THIS. 8D I love the ending of this chapter, I'll admit, though to warn you guys, the beginning does remind me of a Stephanie Myer novel. Thanks a lot, Twilight. You've ruined writing the horror/romance genre for me FOREVER. But my story has explosions and is obviously better anyway because IT'S FREAKING PSYCHONAUTS, so we're still friends.))_**

**_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_**

_Santé, Alexei, Piro—three of the few remaining Imps—and I have found a new hiding place in the some family's house. I don't know their names, and don't care to. They're the same as anyone else, anyway. Perfectly white teeth constantly turned up in perfect smiles, a father in brown slacks and a checkered sweater vest, a mother in a red dress and white apron, two sons with baseball caps and striped shirts. To think, the end of the world turned out to be a transformation into Stepford Suburbia._

_Luckily for us, Mr. and Mrs. _Leave It to Beaver_ left earlier for their annual vacation to Florida, judging from their absence and the many notices of it on their calendar and notes on the fridge—"Pack for trip to Florida! :D" "Don't forget your toothpaste when packing for our trip to Florida, Billy! :D" "Reserve flight to Florida! :D". They won't be back until Tuesday, September 3—"Return from Florida! :D", the calendar says._

_Life has been pretty good so far, actually. Everyone in the neighborhood goes to bed at nine on the dot, so no one notices if one family were to suspiciously leave their lights on after that time, even if they weren't even supposed to be home in the first place. It's a simple matter for us to keep the lights off and sleep in the basement during the day, then eat and plan for our next destination in the night. The Psychonauts patrol during the day, after all. Even they need to see. Darkness is appropriately creepy (I know this from experience), but a lack of vision is only a weakness when you're trying to track down a free thinking runaway. It's saved my sanity on more than one occasion._

_I've taken up gazing out the window during the days. It's hard to see outside with the lights on, I'll admit, but there have been so few times when things have been so calm that I can just sit and think that I do it often here. Sometimes I write in my journal, and most times I end up tearing out the page and crumpling it in frustration as it turns into yet another confession of how hopelessly infatuated I still am with a surely involuntarily brainwashed boy. Clearly, unquestionably, he must be under some form of Mentallix mind control. He would never do this without a very, very thorough reprogramming. No matter how many times he tries to kill me, no matter how many times I do the same, no matter how much I'm told that I'm an idiot by my diminishing accomplices, I'm convinced he's good at heart. Raz, I will never, ever stop loving you. __**NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER—**_

…_Okay, now that I'm done writing hard enough to tear holes in this paper, I'm going to get back on topic to avoid crumpling this page up, too. _

_Earlier today I was doing exactly what I'm doing now, which was writing in my journal and staring out the window. My journal's a ratty old thing, its purple cover nearly worn off with stress and the little ribbon pagemarker hanging by a thread, and I've considered more than once tearing out the filled pages and putting them into one of the identical little pink diaries that every prepubescent non-Imp has… But it was given to me by my dad, and is one of the few tokens of my previous life I have. So, even though the pages are yellowed, wrinkled with water damage, and torn at the edges, I keep it. And I write in it sporadically, yet dedicatedly._

_Suddenly, I saw a spotlessly white coffee mug be planted onto the windowsill in front of me. The coffee inside steamed, dark and tempting. I glanced behind me, and saw Alexei pulling a chair forward to sit next to me. He caught my eye, his pastel blue Russian eyes lighting up playfully. _

"_You know you're not going to see anything out there with the lights on." He plopped backwards over the chair, legs dangling off the sides and arms crossed on top of the decorative oaken back. Alexei is a chipper Russian boy about a year older than me, with messy black hair, pale skin, and a nearly constant mischievous grin on his face. We picked him up in a town known as Ausfere, about two months ago. He was cowering in the ruined basement of a burned down house near the edge of town, and his first words were a quick promise of knowledge regarding the location of an Imp colony if we promised not to shoot him. Two days later, though, upon being physically threatened and branded a traitor by Santé and I (Piro, being a mute, only glared and shook his fist at him), he confessed that the latitude and longitude he rattled off were just numbers he'd picked off a map to lead to nowhere in North Dakota, and whether or not a team of Imps were there was beyond him. He'd only said as much to avoid death._

_I watched him now, eyeing his coy grin and offered mug with aloofness. My journal was still open on my lap, but I made no move to write in it. A second passed, then I turned back to the black panes._

"_Yeah, I know. Fishbowl effect." His grin widened, and he held up a finger._

"_Correct! The light inside reflects off the glass and into your eyes, making you unable to see out. However, anyone passing by out there can see us, making it kind of like…" he paused expectantly, waiting for me to finish his statement. I did no such thing. Let him finish his own sentences. He sunk back, his tone considerably less happy as he finished alone. "…A fishbowl." I frowned, shutting my journal one-handed with a light _thump_, then spoke._

"_Did you really only stop by to talk to me about windows?" I asked impatiently, then took my eyes away from my journal to glare at him. Surprisingly, he was still grinning. He probably even slept with a smile on his face, too happy to just be alive and un-possessed._

"_Nope! I came to bring you _coffee_ and talk about windows." A long silence passed, in which I glared pointedly at him, before he rolled his eyes and spoke again, shrugging. "Okay, okay, you caught me. Santé found a location we could stay at, and she told me to tell you to pack your bags. We're taking off tomorrow for Arkansas. It's not _Florida_—" big grin "—but it'll do." That got my attention. My eyes widened and I leaned forward expectantly, in disbelief._

"_What—tomorrow? The family won't be back for two weeks!" Alexei bit his lip, watching me warily. _

"_I was hoping you wouldn't notice that part. The thing is… someone noticed the lights going on last night. I don't know how, but Santé found the official report after hacking into the Psychonauts main page. They're going to send a team in to investigate. We have to go." I stared long and hard at him. There was something in the way he spoke, the way his eyes darted around, that was making both my psychic and regular intuitions tingle suspiciously. I pondered over this for a second, then, smoothly, it clicked._

"_What team?" I asked warily. Alexei's response was to sigh audibly and cup a hand against his face. His head sunk, then shook slowly._

"_Jesus, Lili, I was really, _really_ hoping you wouldn't notice that."_

"_Psy-chic," I sing-songed, though my expression was glum._

"…_Section thirty-two alpha, via personal request within the Psychonauts. The report included details of 'a redhead of about eighteen seen window gazing'. Happy now? Your little boyfriend's still out looking for you, though not for a make-out session." _

_Of course. Ever since the day Raz had been brainwashed, his emotions and feelings regarding many things hadn't died. Just like I was driven to idiocy in my attempts to find a way to cure him, he was driven towards every lead he could find in the hopes of finding me and 'perfecting' me. It was part of the reason I tried so hard to explain away his evil—somewhere, deep inside the layers of cruel indifference and sadistic roundups of Imps, beyond the dark uniform and marching patrols, beyond even his new, horrible personality, the real Raz was buried._

_And he was screaming for help._

**_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_**

Raz watched Sasha step forward with a wary expression, his hands firmly planted against the stacks of paper. His eyes narrowed into hateful slits, and sweat beaded against his pale forehead. Visions of himself in his own lab, mindlessly filling out paper after paper with nonsense shorthand, swam through his mind. Visions of his eyes turning glassy and dull, visions of bowing obediently below the shadowy throne of Mentallix's president, visions of happily lying over and over to his friends while at the same time signing them up for a little brain surgery…

"Sasha," he began slowly, his fingers digging into the paper as he eyed him hesitantly. He couldn't do this… he didn't want to do this… this couldn't be happening… "about that offer…" Sasha smiled, and the sight made Raz's stomach twinge.

"Good boy. You want to keep your powers, yes? By the time you wake up you'll be stronger than ever." Raz had to work hard to stop himself from shuddering at that line. How had he missed this before? How could he—how could _anyone__**—**_not see just how completely and utterly insane Sasha had become? If he had his way, the whole company—no, no, no, the whole _world_—would soon be under the mental control of some dictator organization that, just yesterday, cranked out psychic toys for a living.

Raz would never let that happen. He looked up at Sasha, grinning spitefully.

"Shove it up your ass."

_**FWOOM**_.

With a telekinetic shove that took more psychic energy than Raz liked to admit, the paper walls between him and Sasha collapsed. Papers took to the skies like fluttering birds, drifting to the ground only to be flung back up as Raz sprinted past them, tearing down the walls behind him as he passed. Part of him ached to use PK on the huge piles of timber, but the thought of both of them becoming trapped in an inferno was most unappealing.

Suddenly Raz was flung forward and onto the ground, arms outstretched and yelping in surprise. A storm of paperwork shot past his head, and he whipped onto his back and gasped. Sasha was standing in the middle of the room, hands glowing blue and face done up in a sickening scowl. He had just blasted every piece of fallen paper out of his way with a psychic blast more powerful than he had ever seen.

"Don't. _Do_. That," he growled menacingly, then flexed his fingers. Instantly, his whole body flared with a pastel blue aura, becoming consumed with hyper-charged psychic energy. Raz took one look at him, shrieked, then raced to his feet, chucking fistfuls of paper at him as he did so. Though each went far enough to hit him, they only got within a foot of Sasha before hitting some form of psychic barrier, then exploding with blue electricity and fluttering harmlessly to the ground. Sasha, meanwhile, didn't even blink.

"You… you…" Raz pointed, shocked, at him, but couldn't seem to find the words.

"Advanced mental shell," Sasha explained mechanically, though Raz hadn't asked. "One of the benefits of the surgery. Capable of dispersing any and all kinetic energy within an object or person that makes contact with it, from a speeding bullet to a pile of thrown paperwork. We're developing a test site for new recruits to help them cope with the surge of sudden power. You'll be one of the first to test it out, Razputin. Haven't you always wanted to become the greatest psychic you could be?" Raz's head shook slowly, his eyes huge.

"No… No, not anymore. Leave me alone, Sasha." Raz took a cautious step back, shaking lightly. "Leave me _alone_!" He yelled this last part, then took off sprinting through the doorway, carelessly setting the stacks on fire as he ran from the room. Some, reflecting off the mental shell or being blasted or _something_, shot past his head, burning, and he wrapped his arms around his head to keep it from catching on fire. That wasn't Sasha; that was some sort of freaking _thing_!

Raz shot into the hall, slamming his palms and stomach against the wall as he hit it. Quickly, though, he sprung off it and to the right, where he spied a fellow agent—a blonde man with a neatly shaven face and grey knit sweater—leaning against the wall and staring at him in surprise.

"Woah, woah, woah, hang on there, little guy," he said, reaching over and grabbing Raz's shoulders as he ran towards him. Raz stared up at him, gasping heavily. "What's the rush?" He then looked up, saw the smoke emanating from the doorway, and smiled knowingly. "Pyrokinesis accident? Eh, don't worry. It happens to everyone. Relax. I'm a hydrokinetic; I'll take care of this."

"_No_!" Raz blurted quickly, jumping in shock. The other agent froze, then looked back at him, confused. He was still holding Raz's shoulders; Raz shook him off impatiently.

"What's up, little buddy?"

"It's Sasha!" Raz exclaimed quickly, already looking past this agent into the hallway beyond. No one else was there. Where were they!? Raz brought his attention back to the agent, speaking quickly. "He's gone crazy! Those flu shots we were given is what's behind the influx, and he was told that the only way he could get his powers back was with brain surgery, but Mentallix messed up his head and made him all evil! They want to take over the world using mind control, and they're using the influx to convince people into it! And I figured it all out and tried to fix Sasha's sanity but he found out and now he's trying to _kill me_! We have to get out of here, and—_stop smiling at me_!" He glared at the lightly grinning agent, fists clenched. Of course this guy didn't believe him; he could tell by that mocking smile. In a few seconds, as soon as he was sure Raz was done ranting, he'd take his hand and calmly lead him to his office, where he would patiently assure Raz that Mentallix was a nice, polite, helpful group, and Sasha was just a little stressed with the direction his branch of work had taken…

Nothing happened. The other agent continued to look down upon Raz with a vapid stare, mouth frozen in a polite smile and eyes glassy. He didn't move a muscle, and Raz paused, confused.

"Uh… Mister… Agent…? Are you… o… kay…?" As Raz spoke, a single droplet of blood slid down each corner of the smile, easing down his chin and curving onto his neck. Twin red teardrops followed these, oozing up and spilling over the edges of his eyes. Quicker now, the agent gained a nosebleed out of each nostril, and his ears, too, began to drip as his mouth began dribbling scarlet. Before Raz's mind could even wrap itself around this concept, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell backwards, now bleeding quite rapidly.

From behind Raz, who was standing still in perfect shock, a familiar voice spoke up.

"Projectile suicide. A take off of possession, also learned after the boost. You project just enough of your psyche to take control of a body, then force it to shut itself down and leave before the mind starves. Handy for defeating mental beings, and preventing bystanders from finding out more than they need to know." Raz whipped back to stare at him in horror, taking in his slight smile and outstretched, glowing hand, and then began to scream.

**_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_**

_To Be Continued._


End file.
